The B Gene

by Carlos Hardy

  “Clear as day, Mr. Speaker.” They’re all waiting for something, a shred of information that they can actually create a stance on.

  “It’s called electric fizzing,” Doley continues. “The Akache send electronic sound waves to us, and one of our decoders, using satellite-based information, transcribes what they’re saying.”

  “Have you even considered the possibility that this could be a foreign nation means of causing chaos in the United States?” Sarah asks, hand resting against her temple.

  Doley presses his hands together, leaning forward in his chair. “Have you noticed every HBCU in this country, Congresswoman?” His tone lowers. “They’ve been demolished. This isn’t the doing of man; I can assure you of that. I am diligently working with the White House to keep our country safe by any means necessary.” All eyes are on him, and for the moment, even Sarah doesn’t have anything to say. “That’s only the beginning. We give them what they want, and they go away. They need melanin, specifically in African-American’s skin, which helps fuel their cities and entire planet. There are approximately six complex genes in melanin that help regenerate cells; we’ve conducted research here in the states, but failed miserably.

  The Akache’s technology is far superior to ours. We’re following their lead on this one.” Caster pulls closer.

  They’ve not disclosed why they seek specific melanin from the skin of African-Americans. We would naturally assume they would go to melanin-rich areas, such as Africa, but so far our research points to the melanin of African-Americans to be more potent.”

  “Brad,” Caster begins, “if melanin is a resource to their planet, they’re going to need more. Do you honestly think that one-million citizens can sustain their existence?”

  “I appreciate the concern Congressman, but we’ll have to cross that bridge when we come to it. We have to secure our country now, or face the consequences.”

  “On that subject,” Sarah interjects, “how strong is their weaponry? What are they using?”

  “Classified.”

  “You’re in a closed door meeting, Brad,” Caster insists. “Information is safe here. There is nowhere more secure to notify us than right here, right now.”

  Doley leans down, retrieving the box from the floor. The Congressmen and women approach the table slowly, cautiously anticipating something to explain everything. Doley nods to Manning, who goes to the back of the room to avoid being dragged in.

  Doley opens the box, reaching in to retrieve the sphere from T and S, and places it on the table.

  “What is it?” Sarah asks first.

  “Their power source. It was found in the abandoned ship. It’s of no benefit to us as of right now, but to them, it’s the equivalent of oil.” Doley clears his throat, readying to deliver the remaining information. The sphere moves slowly into the air, glowing a bright green. “Melanin from African-Americans power this object. Akache go hungry without it.”

  Suddenly, it lifts higher in the room, hovering over the table. The room glows brightly as a blinding burst of a green hue overtakes the room. A crashing sound fills their eardrums, as the object bursts through the wall, leaving a gaping hole leading into the hallway.

  The object moves through the hallway, frantically gliding in the direction of the Black to Black protestors. It stops, hovering before them as they stare in fear and wonder. White light begins to ooze from the object, and the protestors hold their handmade signs before them to cover the blinding glow.

  Their signs fall to the floor as the protestors are propelled backwards against the wall. Screams escape their mouths as the pigment from their arms is extracted, bleeding into the object. Panic ensues as a few reporters attempt to take photographs, finding that their cameras are of no use at all.

  The two massive men guarding the chamber door rush into action, leaping up and securing the pulsating object. They wrestle it to the floor as Doley runs through the chamber doors, enclosing the box over the sphere and turning to the committee members.

  “This is what we’re up against. If you aren’t against them, then you’re advocating this.”

  Chapter Fifteen:

  One Million Delivered

  In the dead of night, they sit cramped beside Clarence in his pickup, barreling down the 695. Silence lingers as the tension builds between them, making it more and more difficult to begin a conversation. Par the usual, Jaylen finally blurts something out to bring some normalcy back.

  “So I guess we’re going to pretend like that shit didn’t just happen? Oh, okay.”

  Everyone remains silent. They don’t exactly know how to describe what just happened. Clarence keeps his eyes on the road, quietly whispering wishes of wellbeing for his daughter, obviously rattled after his talk with Bree.

  Caleb turns towards Jaylen. “Man, I don’t know what that was. I felt something. It got stronger as I became afraid.” For once, Jaylen listens without a sarcastic outburst. “Jay, ever since that incident happened a few years back, I’ve felt… different. A little confident, even.”

  “Bro, you get more nosebleeds than before.” Jaylen offers. “That’s hardly confidence.”

  “I know.” Caleb says, focusing on the freeway markers on the road. “That’s the strange part. Those only happened after that encounter.”

  “Yo, you got those superpowers, G. Let’s use that shit to our advantage.”

  “I hardly think it’s a superpower, Jay. I can’t even control it. It just comes and goes.”

  “Let’s be honest here. Whatever it is, it’s powerful.”

  Caleb turns towards Bree, then peers at the clock. It’s 3:00 AM; no wonder they’ve fallen asleep next to one another. Jaylen catches Caleb’s glare.

  “You still like her, huh? Why?” Jaylen asks.

  Caleb turns his attention back to the road, looking up at the dark sky. “She’s cool, man. I admire her tenacity.”

  “She’s annoying.” Jaylen says, releasing a soft chuckle.

  Caleb pays close attention to the upcoming I-495 sign. “We must be getting close to Washington,” he says.

  Clarence pulls off his glasses, wiping them clean on his shirt before returning them to his face. “About forty-five miles outside of Washington.”

  Jaylen abruptly points in the distance. “Look! Stop!”

  The truck comes to a screeching halt, jerking the girls’ heads and waking them up. Half a mile up the road, military vehicles and personnel are arranged in a barricade. Tankers from the university sit on the side of the road, while flashing lights fill up the lonely stretch of freeway.

  “Look over there,” Bree points out. In a field on the side of the road, African-Americans are standing, waiting patiently.

  Caleb opens the door and exits the truck, feeling his friends closely following behind. “What are they doing?” he asks out loud, his gaze fixed on their position.

  “It’s the drop-off,” Clarence says, rounding the front of the truck. “We were told there were three points where we can leave our kids: Washington, Detroit, and Memphis. My daughter’s in Memphis, or so the ex-wife tells me.”

  “I’ve never seen so many black people in one spot.” Jaylen says.

  The African-Americans wait in the field, wearing white garments and jet black boots, chattering with one another. Soldiers begin to surround them, guns drawn. Bree raises her camera to snap a few photos.

  “This is so weird,” she says. “We should get a closer look.”

  “No, we would be safer here.” Caleb objects.

  “I’m with Bree. I mean, what’s it going to hurt? Besides, we’ll finally get to see what’s really going on.” Jaylen says.

  “I just think it’s dangerous.” Caleb adds. “And we should keep clear of the soldiers.”

  “Bro, we get one life. Let’s live that shit.”

  “I’m going,” Bree says after a long breath, walking towards the group in the field. Caleb can see that Micky is extremely torn on what to do.
Caleb attempts to grab Bree’s arm before she gets out of reach, but she pulls away.

  “No Bree, stay back.” He says.

  “I just need a few shots. I didn’t bring my elongated lenses.”

  “Just follow her, but stay close.” Caleb proclaims.

  They walk from the truck towards the blockade, doing their best to stick by the side of the road and stay out of sight. They reach a spot behind a large rock formation in the field, about fifty feet away from the group of African-Americans. Bree continually snaps photographs, doing her best to stay covert.

  “Guys, this is headline news material.” She says, noting the African-Americans in the group are remaining silent, simply waiting for whatever is about to happen. Some of them have enlisted here to help struggling families with finances, or so the news has made it seem. But Bree notices some university students in the group.

  “They got everybody,” she adds. The students verbally protest the soldiers, begging to be released. The military has their orders, and they aren’t letting up for anything. They aim their guns at the crowd to keep them quiet.

  That’s when they notice a face from old newscasts: General George, an old Iraq war veteran who’s been serving the Pentagon and their interests ever since. The General gazes at the African-Americans, walking through the nearby fence and examining everything.

  “Hello, hello!” He proclaims, masking his obvious conviction with false enthusiasm. The students don’t calm down until a soldier fires two rounds in the air, bringing silence thereafter. “Thank you soldier. Hello my fellow Americans.”

  An exhausted African-American man leans by the edge of the fence, his eyes fixated on the General’s movements. “Get on with it.” He barks.

  “You are part of the Melanin Experiment lottery, and America thanks you for your service.”

  “Service?” The African-American man scoffs. “Then why are we locked up, General? This isn’t much of a thank-you.”

  “Your country will be indebted to you for decades to come.” The General states, clearly disengaging the man’s aggravation. “This is a new experiment for all of us. Myself included. Our expectations are that of a smooth transition. Ninety-five percent of the African-Americans were chosen randomly by the government’s melanin lottery system. Only a few of you have enlisted to serve your country. I suspect this is hard on your families, but I can assure you that they will be proud.”

  “Why isn’t your family out here, General?” The angry man asks again. A few of the others back his words. “America is lying to us!” Some of them say.

  “Your families will be taken care of,” the General continues. “There is a $100,000 severance package for each of your families.”

  “Keep your fucking money! I rather have my freedom.” The angry African-American says. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  Nervous laughter escapes from the crowd.

  “The assignment will last five years. You’ll return sometime in 2031.” The General tries his best to remain hopeful. “It’s possible that could be sooner.”

  “That’s not what our contract said, General. What is this? The auction block in the 1700s?”

  “Please remain patient until given further instruction.”

  “Where are we going?” A woman shouts from the back of the crowd. “Our contract didn’t say anything about a destination.”

  The General whispers in the ear of a nearby soldier. There was a brief flash of shock on his face, as if the White House hadn’t disclosed all of the necessary information to these people. Chatter breaks out among the crowd as some begin to violently push through the fence. The woman begins to rush towards the front of the crowd near the angry man.

  “Ya’ll got us fucked up, all for $100,000?” Where are we going?”

  The General wanders away, his shoulders slumping with each step. The woman gets as close as possible to him, though the fence still restrains her. She begins to shout profanities as he reaches the center of the blockade, picking up a security clearance phone.

  Citizens angrily rock against the fence, trying desperately to break free. One soldier rushes over to him with a sealed envelope, which he hastily opens and glares at the contents.

  The timing of this transmission is comparable to the decade in which we gathered. We are Akache. The light that settles anarchy in all of the universe. The compatible resources that are found in the B gene are derived in Melanin and is useful to our planet Akhu. The rich and defined treasures assist our kind. They will regenerate and fuel our colony for eons. The undertaking of a corresponding planet is never Akache’s ambition. We have come in peace but will no longer limit our scope. Your global and monetary system forces cooperation among you. Provide us the same courtesy. Our mandate for the potent B Gene has crossed 20 galaxies and landed us on your planet. The morsel of one B Gene unit equals two bleeding earth hearts. Transition can be as peaceful as you desire. One week is our limit. With regards to a reply isn’t a choice. The life and evolution of your planet depends on it.

  The General rereads the letter slowly and carefully. The vibration from his phone startles him. The caller I.D. reads private.

  “Hello.” The voice on the receiving end is familiar. It’s Adviser Doley and he doesn’t waste time. “We had to keep you in the dark for fear of exposure to the media.”

  The General fires back. “Mr. Doley, please explain the contents of this letter. Akache?” Adviser Doley’s words feels rushed.

  “General, Akache is an unknown entity that threatens our democracy at this time. We will protect our own. The translation in the letter is from their leader, it’s a classified document that I thought I’ll share with you as you lead this mission.”

  The General’s southern drawl seeps into his explanation. “I would have liked to been made aware of the circumstances surrounding this mission Advisor.”

  “This is about optics, General, and if something goes wrong we wanted to be sure the American people can count on a war hero like yourself to tell them the truth.”

  “Doley, I have thousands of Americans in the middle of nowhere, I don’t think this is the reception they expected.”

  “Sure it is, it is not different than when we send our troops to Syria or Iraq.”

  “What happens now?”

  “You wait.” The call ends. The General removes the phone from his ear. He contemplates his next move, before rushing over to open the flaps from the tent’s entrance.

  The General folds the letter and tuck it into his coat; he’s had enough. He turns towards the crowd, hearing their screams coming from the field. High above the feisty crowd, dark swirling clouds rapidly take form, outlined in a greenish glow.

  A loud blare roars overhead, forcing the crowd to cover their ears. Those who didn’t cover them in time begin bleeding from their ears, shouting through the pain. Rushing towards the fence, their combined weight forced it to topple over, aiding in their escape. The African-Americans make a run for it with nothing but open field before them.

  Heavy manufactured winds begin to sway in every direction, forcing them to fall over. They try their best to run away before the sky opens, bringing a blinding light down on the crowd. Some cover their eyes, as others fight and glare into its source the best they can.

  “Run for it!” The angry man yells at the top of his lungs, attempting to dash off with the remaining crowd. The noise heightens, piercing their eardrums as the winds rapidly increase. High above them, the grayish clouds shift into an unknown object. Unreadable symbols blanket the surface of the apparent vessel, as hundred-foot knives begin to protrude from its bottom.

  “What is that?” proclaims Caleb, looking up at the massive object as it fills as much of the visible sky as possible. The widespread light falls from the object onto the crowd, and each African-American begins to ascend, their bodies seemingly frozen and free of aggression. A paralyzing calm overtakes them, as their bodies dangle in the open air, gravitating towards the
object. The fight is over; the resistance is through.

  “That’s sick.” Jaylen says, glaring at the event.

  Bree tries to snap a few photographs of what’s happening, but once again, her camera stops working. “I need to see this up close.” She says.

  “Bree, don’t!” Caleb shouts in protest.

  Bree runs towards the object at full sprint.

  “I told you this girl is crazy, Caleb. Go get your girl, bruh.”

  Caleb, Micky and Jaylen all begin rushing towards Bree. She stops in her tracks, standing in the center of the field. The fury of wind shifts the four of them into a frenzy. Bree’s standing a mere few feet away from the tumbled fence, her eyes aimed upward towards the massive object.

  “Whoa. It’s beautiful.” She exclaims in a calm bewildered tone. She can’t seem to pull her eyes away from it.

  She traces the African-Americans with her eyes, watching hundreds of them float through the air and into the object. For a moment, everything feels serene; calming. Regardless of the might displayed in front of her, she remains content. She briefly turns over her shoulder, looking at her friends running in her direction. She immediately gives in to the sensation, notable by the tear dripping down her delicate cheek. Bree runs directly towards the chaos.

  “No!” Caleb shouts. “Bree, don’t go!”

  Jaylen switches into a full sprint. “Bruh, she’s crazy!”

  The loud blaring noise forces Caleb into a roaring shout. “Guys, we’ve got to stop her!”

  Jaylen rushes after her, faster than anyone else.

  Bree enters the ring of cascading light, and begins to float up towards the object. Jaylen rushes after her, leaping and grabbing onto her feet. She’s stuck in an unrelenting trance. Bree and Jaylen elevate towards the blinding light, followed by Caleb as he lunges and just latches onto Jaylen’s legs, then Micky close behind. The power from the light source sends a debilitating charge through Micky’s body, forcing her to release her grip on Caleb.